


A Rock and a Hard Place

by Ahziel



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloud's hallucinations, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sephiroth's obsession, Touch-starved Cloud, erotic hand massage, the massage scene in the remake, unwanted arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahziel/pseuds/Ahziel
Summary: “That’s it...” Madam M soothed, increasing the pressure. Between one heartbeat and the next, Cloud’s headache resurged with a vengeance. Through the shrill ringing in his ears, he heard a man’s light baritone finish her sentence: “...relax…”Cloud’s eyelids flew open in shock and he gasped like someone had landed a punch directly to his solar plexus. Though his eyes watered from the pain in his skull, he could still make out the tall, masculine figure perched on the edge of the massage table where Madam M had just been seated.“I’m only here to help,” Sephiroth murmured, leaning closer.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 65
Kudos: 539





	A Rock and a Hard Place

The shōji in Madam M’s massage parlor were lavishly decorated with gold, orange, and red blossoms. Cloud stared up at the designs that swirled on to the ceiling and counted his breaths, the meditative, steady rush in and out. Under his head, a squashy cushion supported the curve of his neck and skull. The table where he lay was similarly padded.

Cloud was accustomed to the harsh metal and filth of Midgar—he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt such softness. It made him uncomfortable.

The soft tapping of Madam M’s geta as she approached the massage table beckoned his attention away from the interior decor.

“This exclusive treatment is reserved for our most well-to-do patrons…” Madam M drawled, hovering by his side. 

Cloud kept his expression neutral. He’d noticed how her demeanor had relaxed upon receiving the enormous sum of gil she charged for the luxury course. Hopefully, his hunch that she would be more willing to help them after they’d paid such a ridiculous price would, quite literally, pay off. 

There was a loud scraping noise as she yanked the dividing curtain shut. Cloud’s eyes flicked from the ceiling to her tall figure as she examined him contemplatively.

After a moment, she took a seat on the side of the table and scooped up his bare hand in one liquid movement. His gaze flicked down and away again. On the teakwood cupboard to Cloud’s right, his discarded pair of gloves lay in a limp pile like deflated balloons. Even if he stretched his memory back as far as it could go, he couldn’t remember ever removing them before. Now that his hands were exposed, he was keenly aware of the cool air prickling over his skin; it made his fingers twitch in Madam M’s grasp. Judging by the smirk that tilted the corner of her painted lips, she noticed. 

He looked away again, focusing on the shōji patterns once more.

“First, the hand creams,” she said, spreading out his fingers so that they lay in a fan over her supporting palm. Her generously-lotioned hand was small, topped with narrow, elegant fingers, but there was a surprising amount of steel-like strength in them. As she leaned forward and pressed, she pushed his arm back and down against his shoulder. Her moisturized fingers wove between his, the skin sliding easily. “A generous coating for each and every one of your richly deserving fingers…” The webbing between each digit was unexpectedly sensitive—his fingers curled over hers before he even realized he was doing it.

Out of nowhere, Cloud’s head split open.

Or at least, that was how it felt. White-hot pain lanced through his entire body like a bolt of lightning and he gritted his teeth so hard he felt one of his molars cut into his cheek. High-pitched ringing filled his ears.

 _Cloud,_ he heard a man’s voice say, muted and reverberant as though from a great distance.

As abruptly as it had started, the clench of agony eased. 

“My,” Madam M said, watching him curiously. “I don’t usually see _that_ kind of reaction outside of the poor man’s course.”

“It’s nothing,” Cloud said after a moment, but his heart was beating hard against his chest. “Just old pains.”

“Mm…consequences of the soldier’s life…” Madam M nodded in understanding. Her voice slid into a lascivious tone. “In that case, I’ll be _very_ gentle…”

Cloud grunted. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, focusing on slowing the rhythm of his heart.

She flipped his hand over and began pressing in light, rhythmic circles over the skin of his fingers, pushing and pulling gently at his flesh. “Let’s start… with the tips.” Her touch was firm but soft, kneading deep into the overworked muscles of his stiff fingers. 

A small, whine-tinged breath gushed out from between Cloud’s lips. 

Madam M giggled.

Cloud felt himself flush. Never had he been handled so gently, with such determined intent to heal and not harm. Even the sparse touches he received from Aerith and Tifa—a quick hug, or a hand resting on his shoulder for a moment, all intended as gestures of friendship—had never sparked such an automatic response from what felt like the core of his very being. 

“That’s it...” Madam M soothed, increasing the pressure. Between one heartbeat and the next, Cloud’s headache resurged with a vengeance. Through the shrill ringing in his ears, he heard a man’s light baritone finish her sentence: _“...relax…”_

Cloud’s eyelids flew open in shock and he gasped like someone had landed a punch directly to his solar plexus. Though his eyes watered from the pain in his skull, he could still make out the tall, masculine figure perched on the edge of the massage table where Madam M had just been seated.

“I’m only here to help,” Sephiroth murmured, leaning closer. Errant locks of a striking silver mane slid over his broad shoulders and swung down by Cloud’s side like a curtain. They tickled the small hairs on his arm. Sephiroth held Cloud’s naked hand clasped between both of his gloved ones; the heat of his skin radiated through the butter-soft leather.

“You—” Cloud choked out, then cut himself off with a stutter when Sephiroth slid the pad of his thumb up over the flesh of Cloud’s index finger in a slow and firm caress. A spark flickered in Cloud’s belly. Furious, he fought to tear his hand free from the monster’s grip.

Somehow, Sephiroth’s hold was inescapable, and his touch continued as a gentle, persistent torment. The monster repeated the motion again, a firm point of pressure gliding over the complex web of interconnected muscles in Cloud’s hand. It forced his fingers to unclench.

 _“Ah,”_ Cloud heard himself say, a punched-out noise that escaped before he could stop it.

Sephiroth smirked and tilted his head, causing more hair to slip off his shoulder and hang by Cloud’s side. His mako green eyes were heavily-lidded with pleasure. 

_“Oh,”_ Sephiroth asked, “did that hurt?” Clearly, the potential intrigued him. He sounded pleased by the prospect.

It had hurt, but in a good way. Cloud couldn’t describe it; pain and pleasure had twisted in on themselves until the sensations were indistinguishable from each other. In his pants, he felt himself twitch. 

“No,” Cloud said. It was supposed to be a denial of the situation, a plea for this hallucination to vanish as quickly as it had appeared, but the word came out breathless instead. 

Sephiroth’s low chuckle was like velvet. “Then I’ll move on…to the base of the fingers.” His boots squeaked over the floorboards as he pivoted closer to Cloud’s head. Cloud could have sworn he felt the air displaced by his movement. It was so real. Was this actually happening? When had Sephiroth entered the room? What had he done with Madam M? 

No, he told himself, this wasn’t happening, not really. Far away, Cloud knew that must be the truth, but he could still _feel_ the other man’s body heat and smell his leather and steel. 

No matter how real it seemed, all he had to do was simply wait this out—it would end eventually. The hallucinations always did.

“Let’s see if we can’t improve your circulation, get that blood flowing,” Sephiroth murmured, pulling Cloud’s hand into his lap. His firm touch migrated down Cloud’s hand and began to dig deep into the fleshy heel of his palm. There were thick calluses there, a result from Cloud’s constant swordplay. Sephiroth’s touch bypassed them and sank directly into the heel of Cloud’s palm like a warm bath. A stiffness he hadn’t even known existed in his wrist melted away.

Cloud gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and tossed his head to the side, determined to wait for the vision’s end.

Naturally, he wasn’t so lucky. In the next moment, he felt Sephiroth’s abdomen brush against his flank. His tormentor had adjusted his position so that he was now supporting his weight with a hand planted next to Cloud’s head. His cool breath fanned over Cloud’s face as he kept himself half-suspended over Cloud’s tense body. The slow, purposeful touches to his upturned palm continued. Tiny grunts puffed from Cloud’s lips with each circle Sephiroth massaged over his skin. Humiliated, he bit down harshly on his lower lip to stifle the noises he heard himself making.

“Don’t fight it, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, his hypnotic movements unceasing. “I like how vocal you are. Such raw, unrestrained passion.” Briefly, he squeezed Cloud’s fingers in a mock caress. His voice, thick and sweet like molasses, emanated from somewhere close to Cloud’s ear. Cloud wasn’t expecting the thumb that swiped over his sensitive lower lip, freeing it from where it had been trapped between his teeth. His leg kicked helplessly.

”Both your pain and pleasure belong to me,” Sephiroth murmured, grandiose. He pressed his thumb to the bloody tear in Cloud’s lip. “Did you think it was only the one? Am I not your everything? Everything that you are is mine.”

“You—you’re not real,” Cloud panted, eyes fluttering open when Sephiroth moved away again. His touch lifted from from Cloud’s hand and face; Cloud tried not to let the disappointment show on his expression.

“Does this _feel_ real to you?” Sephiroth purred, standing once more as he dragged a gloved nail ever so lightly down the length of Cloud’s upturned arm, ending with a gentle flick of Cloud’s middle finger. Cloud’s palm twitched. “I know you, just as I know that every cell in your body is _crying_ out for my touch,” he continued, beginning another round of strong circles over Cloud’s palm. “For _reunion.”_

“No,” Cloud croaked. It left his chest as a truncated moan.

“Do you deny it?” Sephiroth asked silkily. The amusement in his tone was evident. “And yet, you cry out in pleasure...” His thumb returned to accentuate his soft statement, playing over Cloud’s bitten-red lips. The delicious pressure kneading at Cloud’s overstrained digits increased; Cloud was certain he could feel his pulse pounding in his fingertips now. “Do you cling to this meaningless scrap of resistance? Does it soothe your pride?”

 _“Nn,”_ Cloud choked. Every denial he tried to muster only escaped as breathless grunts.

“Can you deny this?” Sephiroth teased, and laid his blazing hand on the stiff line in Cloud’s trousers.

It had been entirely unexpected, and Cloud had no defense; his hips immediately flexed up off the table in an abortive arch, pushing his groin further into Sephiroth’s palm. “Ah!”

“Yes, that’s how you like it,” Sephiroth sighed, massaging up and down Cloud’s hardness lightly with his fingers. Despite himself, Cloud’s thighs spread so that Sephiroth would have more room to work. “The sight of you like this pleases me…writhing in pleasure, but unable to let go of your hatred. When you come to me—and you _will_ —I’ll spread you out underneath me just like this. I’ll listen as you _beg_ for my forgiveness.”

“A-asshole,” Cloud snarled through quivering lips. Delirious, his free hand gripped the pad beneath him in search of something to cling to. He was dimly aware of his nails puncturing the fabric.

"I promise you won't mind it. Look at the way you tremble for my touch. I’ll have you this way for _eons_.” Sephiroth punctuated his words with a series of particularly firm strokes. Cloud tossed his head back, thudding it into the cushion. The friction from the seam of his pants was unbearable. Cloud was half-certain he would die from it. Bright shocks of pleasure wound his entire body up like a toy until every muscle was contracted into one stiff line of quivering tension.

Sephiroth bent even lower over him. His breath touched the shell of Cloud’s ear. On either side of Cloud's face, a sweeping curtain of silver hair obscured his vision.

“I accept your gift of worship,” Sephiroth murmured into the small space where they both breathed. When he lightened the pressure of his hands, Cloud’s hips jumped up in pursuit of his touch. He was grinding his hips up against Sephiroth’s motionless palm now, chasing after the throbbing sparks of pleasure himself.

“You—don’t—ah,” Cloud moaned, voice scraped raw. Something horrifyingly vulnerable had split open his chest like a poisonous flower forcing its roots through concrete; he could no longer pretend that his heart didn’t pulse with a sickly, black need for the man leaning over him. Hatred made his head dizzy. Cloud _hated_ this man, hated him with every fiber of his being, but somehow, his touch was its own deliverance. What was so wrong about Cloud that the unwanted caress of a monster could make him feel this way? Everything about Cloud was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , and Sephiroth must have been drawn to that sickness like a moth to flame.

“I know what you need,” Sephiroth hushed him, almost fondly, as he slid two of his gloved fingers into the wet cavern of Cloud’s mouth and pressed down on his tongue. Cloud curled it around the intruding digits helplessly, nearly gagging. The taste of leather saturated his mouth and triggered the flow of saliva. “Suck,” Sephiroth instructed in gentle tones.

Tears streaked out from Cloud’s clenched eyelids. He did. 

He came like that, with Sephiroth’s fingers in his mouth and mind and soul, and with soft, mocking laughter pealing in his ears like a discordant tone from a bell.

* * *

An indeterminable amount of time later, Cloud cracked his eyes open. Sephiroth was gone. The three candles placed on the nearby cupboard had burned themselves down to the wicks. He felt warm in areas where he didn’t even know he had muscles, as if he'd over-exerted himself, but there wasn’t a hint of tension in his frame. In fact, he felt as though he’d melted like the wax candles.

The curtain rustled.

“Finally awake?” Madam M asked, peeking in. Her fan hid her smile, but he could hear it in her voice. “You fell asleep during the massage. I chose to take it as a compliment.”

Cloud forced himself upright, and in the process, realized that there was an uncomfortable mess in his pants. Instantly, his cheeks flushed dark red. Words, as they often did, eluded him. Instead of answering, he twisted his torso to reach the cupboard where his gloves had been placed. He slid them over his hands with quick, jerky movements, skin crawling with the need to be concealed. He hadn't known his hands could feel so relaxed.

“Don’t worry,” Madam M said coyly, giggling. Cloud looked at her, struggling to meet her eyes. “Like I said—I chose to take it as a compliment.” She fanned herself luxuriously. “Do come again sometime.” Her words were rich with double-meaning, but Cloud wasn’t listening. Something on the floor had caught his attention.

A large black feather rested in front of her feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Come on, you really didn't think I would alter THAT scene? Don't be ridiculous. I live for touch-starved Cloud.  
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [here](https://ahzielwrites.tumblr.com/).


End file.
